


Stage Lights

by joykilldrama



Category: The Baby-Sitters Club
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joykilldrama/pseuds/joykilldrama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only place Jessi knew who she was had always been the stage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stage Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the BSC100 challenge on LJ.

When I closed my eyes, I could see myself soaring in the perfect tour jete. I could feel myself stick the landing and effortlessly move into the next step. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the heat of the stage lights upon my skin. I could hear the applause ringing in my ears after the dance ended.   
  
When I opened my eyes, I could still see a bright light. The bright light that was over my hospital bed. I had been seeing that light every time I woke up for the past three weeks. It had happened during ballet, of course. I was just another injured ballerina. I was only seventeen and I had a life ahead of me, touring with Dance NY and then one day with other companies. I had already made a name in the dance world. I’d been touring since I was eleven.   
  
I had to get better. I had to get better from this. I would not allow one minor injury to stop me.   
  
I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. How did this happen? How did Jessica Ramsey end up injured? Well, remember that scenario I listed above. The one with the tour jete and the heat of the stage lights. It happened like that. Only instead of applause when I stuck my landing, there were gasps as I missed it and my legs gave out underneath me.   
  
The show had to stop.   
  
I had stopped the show.   
  
An ambulance came and rushed me away while the director of Dance NY apologized to all of those in the audience. I was given pain medication. When I woke up, I was staring at that bright light. My leg was up in the air, in traction. I remembered when my middle school friend, Claudia Kishi, had broken her leg and had to have it put in traction.   
  
Did I break my leg? I didn’t know.   
  
Would I be able to dance again? I didn’t know.   
  
I didn’t know anything for at least another hour when a doctor finally came in and talked to me. I had torn a ligament in my knee. It was bad. They had to do surgery and I was going to have to stay there for a few days.   
  
I went home two days after I was admitted. I only got to stay for a few hours. There was something wrong with my knee. I knew my body better than most people knew theirs. I had to. I was a dancer. A dancer must know their body intimately in order to do their craft properly. I told my mother that something was wrong and she drove me back to the hospital.   
  
I was right. An infection had set into my knee. Another surgery. This time, the doctor’s wanted to wait until everything was okay.   
  
That was nearly three weeks ago. My leg was out of traction. I was allowed out of bed, but my leg wasn’t strong enough to support my weight. It wasn’t as though I had a lot of weight to support. I had to be in a wheelchair.  
  
My doctor delivered the news on a Wednesday. Three and a half weeks after my accident.   
  
“Miss Ramsey,” he began. His voice was deep. “It appears that you injured your knee worse than anyone thought.”  
  
“How bad is it?” I asked. I was so scared. I wished Daddy were here to hold my hand.   
  
“You’re going to need physical therapy to relearn how to walk and strengthen your knee.”  
  
“What about dancing?”  
  
“Miss Ramsey, let’s focus on re-learning how to walk.”  
  
“I’ll be able to dance again, won’t I?”  
  
“We need to focus on the basics first, Miss Ramsey.”  
  
“Answer my question?”   
  
I was practically shouting now.   
  
“It is not very likely that you’ll be able to dance again. At least, not the way you once did,” he finally answered.   
  
The stage lights went out. With it, my identity. Without the stage, without dance, who was I?


End file.
